Will of the Tides
by Uirebrien
Summary: Irima, admired one of her people and heir to the throne of Eriador--the lone lands. The fate of the kingdom lies in the hands of the child-queen heir of Taurindo. I only have the vaguest idea of where this is going. Please R&R. This is my first fic!
1. Default Chapter

Author's note: Why hello! You've come to read my fic I see! I really hope you enjoy it, and don't worry; it's not a shamelessly blatant Mary Sue- at least not yet! If it steers in that horrible direction-God forbid-I'll do my utmost best to make it something worthwhile. My muse is very uncooperative, you see, always popping up when I don't have the time to write things down so just hope that my muse won't resort to anything.desperate.yes, let's all hope for your sake, and my sanity. Anyways, please review 'cause I'd really like to know what you think! Now that's all said: Onward to the unknown!  
  
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I get it: I don't own anything except for my own characters-not that they're worth much anyways.everything belongs to Tolkein.  
  
***Oh yeah, and "Amme" = "mommy"  
  
I knelt beside her as she moaned in her pain. The red liquid that seeped from the wound on her side was flowing freely still-strange, for she usually healed so fast. Her head was tilted to the side and her eyes stared unseeingly at something in the distance.  
  
"Amme?" I said shaking her shoulder gently. I wondered if she had fallen asleep with her eyes open. I shook her again, half expecting her to turn and glare at me sharply for disturbing her in her sleep. But she didn't do that. I decided that she was just ignoring me like she did whenever I became weary or stubbornly impatient. So I just sat there, waiting for her to finally get up and tell me to hurry back to camp saying, "The lady of Lothlorien does not appreciate delay!"  
  
"Irima," the voice was too deep to be my mother's. I turned my head back to see who it was. It was one of the guards who accompanied us on our journey to see the Lady of the Light. He looked past me and I saw his eyes roam over my mother's body. I scowled at him and at the strange look that was on his face. What did it mean?  
  
"Ellir?" I asked suddenly. His gaze then drifted back to me and his face became expressionless once more.  
  
"We must away little one."  
  
"Away? Do you not see that Amme is still resting?" I looked at him crossly as if it were the most natural thing for my mother to be lying on the ground with blood seeping from her wounds. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked at me with pity on his face but I was perplexed by it. I didn't know what pity was. He picked me up in his arms and started to walk away, leaving my mother's still form lying on a leaf-strewn path-forever held in a frozen sleep. I resisted of course, not knowing the real gravity of the situation. I threatened him with death, and I used my father's title, my mother's title, and my own title as their sole heir. But Ellir would not relent. He only stopped when we reached the clearing where out camp was set up. The place was clearly a mess with our things littered all over the place. But the strangest things were the thick white cords that were strewn upon the high branches of the surrounding trees that floated about like eerie white curtains. As Ellir spoke to the other members of our party in an unexpectedly solemn tone, a piece of the strange white substance hung tauntingly over my head. It danced in the slight breeze like a scarf, evading my impossibly small hands and fingers. When I caught the end between my fingers, I grimaced when I realized that the silky white film was actually thick and elastic.  
  
"Ellir!" Came an alarmed cry. The said elf then looked up at me just in time to catch me wiping my hands on the back of his immaculate blue tunic. I smiled guiltily before looking down sheepishly when they did not smile back. I mumbled an apology then, unwilling to look into his face, which I convinced myself, would be twisted in rage. And as my chest burned from holding back the onslaught of tears that were threatening release, I tried to remember that I was angry with him for leaving Amme there all alone. I wondered how she would react when she would wake in the middle of a dark forest, abandoned by her companions. She would be angry, no doubt. "Why didn't you wake me?" She would question angrily. I could see her face now, red with unsuppressed rage.  
  
"I'll take her," offered the same guard who had cried out to warn Ellir of my sticky white hands. Ellir only sighed, and I looked up and saw that he was not angry. His face was blank but his eyes shone with unspoken sadness. I wondered why, then, before I was taken from him and crushed against Elvean. He was stronger than Ellir, I noticed from the way he held me, or maybe just less gentle.  
  
"Amme's still in the forest." I said knowingly as I looked pointedly past Elvean's shoulder at Ellir. The soft urgent whisperings of my companions suddenly ceased and I could feel their eyes dart to me instantly after my comment.  
  
"Is that so, little one?" Elvean said slowly. I nodded before continuing.  
  
"She was sleeping but Ellir would not wake her then." I smiled wickedly before adding, " I think he is afraid of her." But no one laughed as I had expected them to. Nor did my target look the least bit chagrined.  
  
"We should fetch her then." Came the careful answer. I nodded vigorously but stopped when Elvean bid me to stay at the camp. But I relented, figuring that I would at least be eliminated from blame. I did remind them after all.  
  
Elvean arrived with my mother in his arms, wrapped purposely in his cloak to hide her from my eyes. I ran to them, Ellir at my heels, but as soon as I raised my arms up to pull away the hood that covered my mother's face, the elf immediately pinned my arms down to my sides. I looked questioningly at him, annoyed at his action and ready to protest, but Elvean quickly shushed me saying,  
  
"Hush, little one, she is sleeping." I pulled away then, aware that I could be the next object of my mother's wrath if I dare wake her. Ellir, I knew was in enough trouble already, trying to leave my mother and all; I did not want to be next. Elvean gently placed my mother atop his horse before mounting behind her. I wanted to ask why he did not let her ride on her own but I quickly decided that it was not worth the effort now that I was suddenly tired. I yawned openly as Ellir mounted his horse with me in his arms. It was nearly evening and according to my company, we should have arrived at Lothlorien hours ago if it weren't for some certain "delay." I didn't know what they meant by "delay" but the way they said it warned me not to press them now for answers. I noticed as we rode that we were missing two of our previous companions. I asked Ellir about it but he didn't seem to hear me. My other companions were not so forthcoming in answers either so I just gave up and leaned in further into Ellir and let myself drift into off sleep.  
  
"Caras Galadhon, Irima." Ellir said, gently shaking me as I lay in his arms. Everywhere there were great white branches, surrounding us in intricately twisting curves like a magnificent cage. It was stunning in all its incongruity yet I could not help feeling as if we were approaching something great and foreboding-as if we were insects curiously drawn to the dangerous beauty of a spider web. But I nearly cried out when I noticed that we were only treading on the narrow branches of the great tree cage. We were teetering over perilous heights!  
  
"Ellir!" I said urgently as I took one last look over his arm at the dizzying heights we were traveling upon before burying my head in his shoulder. He only responded by stroking my back soothingly and I dug my head into his chest. As we continued, I prayed to Illuvatar the way that Amme always made me whenever something grievous enough to unsettle her happened. I prayed that Ellir would not slip and plunge us head first into our doom; I prayed that Ellir would not drop me, and I prayed the same for Elvean and Amme. But I did not worry for the others. I don't know why, but I immediately trusted that their steps were sure. Or perhaps it's only because they were not carrying anyone of great importance to me. When we stopped I clutched his tunic fearfully, curious, but too scared to ask why we had stopped.  
  
"We have arrived, little one." At that I cautiously peeked over his arms and after seeing a floor-opposed to a measly branch-I decided that we were safe. Ellir put me down and I looked up just in time to see light-blinding and pure-descend down a staircase that I thought must have had a million steps. The woman, I saw first. She was radiant and her aura was so beautiful and powerful that it frightened me. I had never been in the presence of such power before!  
  
From the corner of my eye I saw Elvean. Strange, he wasn't carrying Amme anymore. Did she wake during our journey to Caras Galadhon? I looked around at our company, clutching Ellir's thigh as my eyes darted searchingly for a curtain of light brown hair that glinted silver over piercing grey eyes, a pointed nose, and a sharp determined jaw. But I did not find it. When I turned back to the staircase, I found that the lady was staring straight at me. Everything surrounding the couple was white from their pale faces to their immaculate robes. Everything was pale and wan in the light, all except for their eyes. They stared straight at me, their combined penetrating blue stares crashing violently with the cold grey defiance of mine. I wondered briefly what Amme would want me to do, but I looked around me and she wasn't there. I was lost for a moment and when my gaze fell back to the lord and lady's, it faltered. I stared stupidly at my feet and I dared not look up even when they spoke.  
  
"What do you fear child?" Came the strange voice. It was definitely a woman's, but whose? I searched for my mother again, not caring that it was obvious to the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien that I was not listening. But the voice came again, "What is it you fear? Is it your mother's passing?" The words did not even register as I looked at the Lady of Lothlorien. It was her voice! But.but how was that possible? She was speaking to our company!  
  
"I fear nothing," I told myself. I knew it was a lie but I didn't care-I forced myself to believe it. But once my eyes were caught in the strong gaze of the Lady of the Light, I knew it wasn't true. There was that strange look again. It was the same one Ellir gave me when Amme and I were still in the woods. I didn't understand it. What did that look mean? It was sad-sadness and understanding-confusing, I thought. Irritating even! I had never known that look in my life. I had never received pity, nor felt it for any, nor had I ever reason to. I never really cared for things I didn't understand, especially at that moment.  
  
Suddenly a look of understanding sparked on the lady's face. She turned to her lord by her side and a knowing look passed between them. Then their eyes fell upon me once again.  
  
"So this is the child-queen, heir of Taurindo," the lord spoke aloud. "Irima." I bowed to them as my teachers taught me, to show respect. But apparently, my display of submission did not satisfy them enough for they only continued to stare at me with the same intensity as before. Again, my thoughts drifted to my mother and what she would have me to do in this certain situation. And before the whole question formed in my mind, it shot from my lips on its own accord.  
  
"Where is Amme?" I looked up questioningly at Ellir and then Elvean. Then, I looked at all the members of our company before looking back at the lord and lady of Lothlorien. They all looked at me again with that look I hated because I couldn't understand. Pity, pity, pity, they thought. Poor girl doesn't know her mother's dead. 


	2. The Calm Before The Storm

Author's note: Hello darlings! It took me quite a while before inspiration hit. My muse only feeds on reviews *hint, hint*. Anyways, a shout out to Sokochan for being my first reviewer WoOhoO for you! Oh yeah, before I forget, I kind of stumbled upon the little fact that "Amme" is in Quenya. In Sindarin the translation would be "Naneth" or "Nana." I hope I'll find some space the following chapters to explain why Irima calls her naneth "Amme" when the elves of Middle Earth speak Sindarin. Ah, we'll see, we'll see.  
  
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Tolkein. Yes, even Eriador  
  
I sat there as silently as I could facing my companions as they explained to the lord and lady of Lothlorien as to why we were delayed upon arrival.  
  
"Spiders," came the curt reply. I sat there waiting patiently as I could for an explanation that did not come. It seemed that my usually garrulous companions were unnaturally reticent. I let my legs swing a little as they dangled from the edge of the chair. Spiders? Spiders were so small, so harmless; Amme would surely laugh when I tell her that our companions told the Lady of the Light that spiders had raided our campsite. Amme could even be angry with them for telling such a story! But something hesitated in me then. They would be angry. They would all call me a snitch. I stilled my legs and looked around at my company. They were talking about something else now. Instantly, I was sorry for missing the exchange about the spiders. I wouldn't be able to tell Amme the whole story now and my heart sank at the thought. My companions began to leave the receiving hall, as servants appeared to escort us to our rooms. But I didn't move; I just kept staring sullenly at my legs, ignoring the hand my nurse, Lomiel, was now offering me.  
  
"Come, Irima. We must get you ready for bed."  
  
***  
  
"What were they talking about out there?" I asked as Lomiel quickly undressed me.  
  
"Well, what did you hear?" Was the strangely guarded answer.  
  
"Spiders did not invade our camp, Lomiel! Spiders are so small and harmless. You were lying when you said that!" I chided her as if she had committed a great wrong. But my nursemaid only sighed and began her patient and careful explanation of what had happened.  
  
"How can an elf pass into shadow? We are immortal, are we not?" I asked incredulously. I wanted to laugh at how silly her explanation was, but I did not want her to feel offended after she had explained everything so patiently. Others would not have been so tolerant of my insistent probing, I was sure.  
  
"Yes, but elves can be slain. We are also capable of dying of grief."  
  
"Does Amme know of what happened?" I said as I sank into the tub of warm water. I picked off the pieces of lavender and rosemary that clung to my hair as I waited for Lomiel to answer. She hesitated then and turned away to pick up my discarded garments. When she turned back to me, I stared back at her expectantly. If Amme didn't know, I could tell her everything myself in the morning.  
  
"I'm sure she does, Irima."  
  
"Oh," I said disheartened. Perhaps some other time, I told myself as Lomiel began to wash my hair.  
  
***  
  
My eyes blinked in the darkness as my limbs searched blindly for familiar warmth to press myself against. My feet were cold as they moved under the covers in search of my mother's warm legs. But as I turned, I realized I was alone in a gigantic bed, in a strange room, in some place that was not my home. In the corner, Lomiel was fast asleep on a chair. Her eyes were wide open as if they were looking straight at me, but her irises were pale-almost invisible in the darkness-a sure sign she was sleeping. I felt so alone, so abandoned. I quickly wiped away the tears that trickled down my cheeks as I fought the unpleasant emptiness that crawled up from the bottom of my stomach. Amme always slept beside me when we weren't home. I glanced quickly at Lomiel to make sure she hadn't seen me crying. I was too old to cry, too old to run to my parents after a nightmare, too old to tell on the other children who teased me; I wouldn't have anyone thinking I was a baby even if I still felt like one most of the time.  
  
I crawled off the bed, so careful not to wake Lomiel. I wanted to look for Amme. She would say I was being childish for looking for her, but I didn't care. I was a child!  
  
The corridors were cold and deserted and seemed haunted as a song echoed through them. The tune was sad and mournful, but why? Why must everything in 'Lorien be so solemn? I thought. I pressed myself against the wall as I studied the other doors along the hall; biting my lip as I guessed which one my mother was hiding behind.  
  
"What are you looking for, Irima?" A cold chill crept up my spine as the low whisper met my ears. My eyes darted guiltily around the hall but I was alone. In my head, ghost stories told by the other children in Eriador spun silently in my memory-daring me to believe in them. In many tales there had been voices, low and breathless, that had led heroes and heroines to their doom. My heart beat wildly as the possibility of truth in the tales hit me. I covered my ears and prayed silently for the ghost to go away.  
  
"You should not be awake at this hour." The voice said again. Perhaps it was a ghost that had spoken to me in the great receiving room where I met the lord and lady of Lothlorien! A desperate sob escaped from my lips when my hands reached up for the doorknob and I discovered that the room I had been staying in was locked from the outside.  
  
"Irima," It called. I pressed myself against a dark corner and covered my ears and closed my eyes.  
  
"Irima,"  
  
"Go away," I silently pleaded. "Go!"  
  
"Irima!" My head snapped up as I recognized the voice of Elvean. I quickly stood up and blinked back the tears that had almost begun to fall. "What are you doing out of bed?" He asked more gently. He crouched down until we were eye to eye. I couldn't answer right away. How could I tell him about waking up alone? How could I tell him about the ghost? He wouldn't believe me. How could he understand I was afraid when he himself isn't afraid of anything? How.  
  
"Amme!" I shouted, quickly remembering why I was up. "I want to see her!"  
  
"No, little one." He said stroking my head. "You will see her in the morning."  
  
"Now!" I insisted. From behind him I saw a flurry of white robes. I immediately recognized the willowy elves clad in them as healers as they entered a dimly lit room on the other end of the corridor. I heard the soft voices of my mother's handmaidens coming from the room. Surely they would know where my mother was if they weren't already in the same room with her!  
  
"Amme!" I cried as I made a mad dash for the door, which was positioned tauntingly ajar. I heard Elvean sigh as his soft footsteps followed me, but did not speed up to thwart me in my pursuit. I saw a flash of my mother's hair from the doorway, but it was soon blocked as I reached my destination.  
  
"Irima! Go back to sleep!" Arinel-the handmaiden-exclaimed. She waved her hands away dismissively, but froze at the sight of Elvean.  
  
"Let her in," he spoke. For a moment they passed looks above my head- something I discovered that adults liked to do, thinking you don't know they're doing it. But I didn't care what the looks meant as long as I could see Amme. At least now I knew where she was. Finally, Arinel nodded. But before she let me in, she turned to face the others inside, telling them I was about to enter.  
  
***  
  
Amme lay on the bed, dressed in a white dress that I never knew she had. It was comfortable, not stiff and imperial looking like the dresses she usually wore. The fabric was soft and creamy, and I thought that it suited her more than anything else she had ever worn. I wondered then, why she didn't dress this way more often. I traipsed over to the side of the bed and gently touched her shoulder. Her eyes were closed and her hands lay folded on her abdomen. I just stood there, waiting for her to acknowledge my presence with an impatient, "Speak, Irima." But Amme didn't speak, Amme didn't move, she didn't even blink or even attempt roll her eyes crossly at me, silently telling me my presence was not welcome at this ungodly hour.  
  
I touched the tips of my fingers to her face, knowing very well that I was risking to be publicly reprimanded-something I loathed more than anything. Her skin was cold and firm, and shone like newly polished candlesticks. When she did not say anything, I pulled urgently on her arm calling her name, demanding my presence to be acknowledged-but she did not move, or even sigh in frustration at my obvious show of impatience. I heard someone cry out from behind me, half expecting him or her to pull me away from my mother now, but no one dared to come close to me. No one even dared to breathe.  
  
*A.N.: Yeah, I know this is a sucky place to stop but it's now time for you to go and submit a review! Just click on that little purple box on the left..all you gotta do is click, click baby and you're there! Just type in "I like it" or "I don't like it, goodbye", that's all I'm asking for. For the love of anything, holy or not, please review! Pretty please! Please. 


	3. The Rumbling of the Tempest

Author's Note: Hey guys! (or maybe more like guy or girl *grumbles miserably*) This chapter is kind of short and very messy I think. But well, oh well, here it is all the same! But before you read I must say that Irima might not get past the age of 7, or 9, or whatever miserable age she is if I don't get any more reviews. I've seriously been contemplating the termination of this fic if no one reviews because 0 reviews = 0 readers ( sad but true. And for any errors I have made, I humbly ask for your forgiveness. So here is my chapter; Vamos ninos to the unknown! Oh, and please review at the end of the chapter ( Irima would greatly appreciate the continuance of her existence. Oh yeah, and if she dies you will all be held responsible for her death.**in creepy Gollum voice**:Muhhhhrrrdehhrerrr!!!  
  
Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, I know.  
  
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I screamed. I screamed when she did not move; I screamed when I felt that her hands were cold and frozen. And I screamed again when I saw that her eyes were closed. She was lying on the bed like a wax doll, healers and ladies surrounding her as if she were a goddess. Death: it was the mortal curse and yet it still held power over the fiercest of the Eldar. That was the day death's eyes met mine. As my mother lay still in her bed, I could feel his beady black eyes caress my small form. And I felt his icy fingers run over my cheeks as greedy red flames hungrily consumed my mother's body until all was left were frail, useless ashes. My tears were hot and wet in my eyes, but they burned cold with anger down my cheeks like cool droplets rolling off the slick surface of glaciers whose hardness now matched my own. That day, death had caressed me with his staff of grief and with his wise aged hands planted seeds of sorrow into my empty womb. That day, death had become my lover and his hands still hover over my heart where they have been ever since that day, that day....  
  
***  
  
"Irima! Irima!" They cried as they pulled me away from the woman on the bed. I grabbed at the sheets, the blankets, the creamy white dress, and the silvery brown hair not caring about anything except for proving that the woman on the bed was alive. I silently begged for her to wake to find me having a fit. I prayed for her to scream and beat me, threaten to have me flogged right here in Lothlorien if I didn't stop. Long pale hands- so many of them-covered my small red fists that balled around anything in reach and pried them off and away from whatever poor material I managed to crush in my heated and desperate hold. The alien white hands were leech- like and insistent, but I was determined to win. And with a strength and defiance I never knew existed in me, I thrashed and kicked, I bit and scratched at the soft white hands and fed off the sight of raw red wounds blooming against the pallor of their slim white fingers, marking them as my enemies.  
  
They pleaded; they begged, they cried for me to stop. It is strange that through some event as harrowing as this, I could find no tears to solace me. After I realized my mother's death, I returned to Eriador. There I looked upon the faces of friends, family, mourners, and passerby's hoping to find some understanding, but in all attempts to comfort me, none could satisfy my grief. Their faces were cold and indifferent. I wanted them to scream and cry as I did; feel the wrath of realization slamming hard against their chests like fists. I wanted them to feel my grief-feel lost when faced by some truth whose acceptance you could not even fathom. My pain was too deep, too overwhelming to cry. Things are especially painful when you don't even understand.  
  
***  
  
My company and I stood there to bid farewell to the lord and lady of Lothlorien. Lord Celeborn was as distant as ever-even as he smiled, I could find no sincere warmth. The lady's eyes were cold and blank with a sadness I could not name. There was bitterness and a regret in those blue depths set against an ivory face and mass of soft golden waves. A whisper broke to my ears, though no one spoke a word, I heard it: "You are alone child." Something terrified screamed in me then, and though I was loath to admit it, I knew it was true. I unconsciously searched for the nearest hand to find comfort in some familiarity, to fight against the growing hollowness in the back of my mind that was making itself more and more prominent with each waking moment. My eyes never left those of the lady Galadriel's; in a steely grey challenge I held her blue orbs. There was no way she could be right. No way.  
  
As Galadriel whispered the blessing that seemed to push our boats forward into the Anduin, I could hear that unnamed voice again taunting me over and over into aggravation, confusion, and finally realization of my own situation that was something so foreign to me. How could there be no Amme if there always was before? I could imagine life without Adar-something that had been somewhat of a reality in Eriador; but Amme was everywhere. And how could she not be? During the trip back to Eriador, Amme's death had been nothing but a fact that was yet to be proven.  
  
I imagined her somewhere, laughing at her own cruel joke. She would want me to cry, but once the first tear would make itself known, she would be livid. "You would not want to show weakness in the face of your people, Irima!" and she would hiss out my name like it was a curse. How ironic it is that I missed her torment, her anger, her threats, and the way she spat out my name as if it were dripping of venom. I could not even remember a time when she was happy, though I told myself that there were probably many times-I just could not remember. I could not understand how so suddenly she was gone, and for a while I did not accept it. As far as I knew, Amme was not dead. I convinced myself that there was no proof; the night in Lothlorien was nothing! Amme was alive and waiting for me in Eriador, and after this everything would be as it was.  
  
But as much as I believed this, some part of me still questioned the conviction with which I held this faith.  
  
***  
  
At the edge of 'Lorien, we met our horses where we left them. Elvean decided to ride out ahead of our party to scout the stretch of land that lay before us. With him he took weapons and a large linen bundle of supplies he would need. We started immediately after we found our horses wandering about languidly as they tested the variety of grasses that grew in the realm of the lady Galadriel. My companions unanimously decided that there would be no reason to delay our arrival to Eriador, though I could not understand how their usually relaxed manner suddenly shifted to hurried and snatched.  
  
From my mount atop the horse where I sat sagging against Ellir's arm, I could see the light golden brush of morn peeking from behind the tops of green mellyrn. They were a great mass of trees both young and ancient, their leaves now turning gold from the soft whisper of an autumn yet to come.  
  
"Look," he breathed. "The sunrise." Ellir pointed towards the radiant break in the clouds that split the grey drabness of thinning twilight in the sky. He was awestruck. The others sighed and nodded in agreement, letting the melancholy that surrounded our party to suddenly lift away to reveal daylight. I refused to look up even as his shoulder gently nudged me to take in the sight before us. My head stayed bent low, my eyes glued to the rock-strewn path. I heard him sigh and his breath ruffled my hair. I knew he was probably growing impatient with me but I was angry and I didn't care how he felt. He turned slightly to face the others behind us-exchanging meaningful glances no doubt-but I didn't care. Silence passed and the heavy shroud of an awkward quiet covered us again, but this time not even the beauty of dawn could lift the thick desperation I had cast on us all.  
  
I heard the clanking of hooves and Lomiel appeared beside us. "I will take her," she offered, her voice regarding me as if I were some heavy, unpleasant burden. Her arms reached out towards me but I simply turned away, feeling shocked as hollow anger at her betrayal bloomed in me like pain. I let myself stare off blankly in the distance. There were all growing weary of me, I knew, but as long as Amme was not here, there would be no one to please.  
  
Where was Amme? I told myself she was in Eriador, but doubt spun itself a web in the back of my mind and the hundreds of renegade spiders that had raided our camp became more and more real. I swallowed down the tears, but the burning in my throat only caused more tears to form from the pain of it. I tried desperately to reason with myself but in the end I simply pushed away all doubts, swallowing them down whole along with the tears that formed to no end. How could she be dead as they said? Wasn't it only a fortnight that we were together in Eriador? Wasn't it only three days ago that she came tearing through the forest to my side by the creek? She came to me, her sides seeping with blood, and she laid herself gently beside me, chanting healers' spells that had never failed her before. And she slept. She always slept after healing herself-drained by the very act. So how could she be dead as they said? There was no logical explanation that could pacify me so I simply succumbed to the simplest, easiest reason there was: Perhaps she wasn't dead after all. They had all been deceived. But not I..and that much I knew.  
  
I looked about at my companions and I saw they were growing weary of me, full of frustration now, and simply tired of my silence, my sourness, and the limp and listless way I was now. I missed Amme. I could feel myself wilting from the very lack of her presence. So this was grief; I was mourning one who was not yet dead. But I knew they wondered if I would ever get better-something even I wondered myself.  
  
From the corner of my eye I saw a white horse with a golden mane and light eyes riding up to my side. Riding the steed was a woman clad in pure white- from Lothlorien no doubt-mounted regally atop the animal. Her hair was the color of unbleached silk-almost white-braided to utter perfection. And her eyes! They were the palest blue I had ever seen.  
  
"Come, Irima" came a soft voice. Melodious as it was, it held the firmness of steel in its persuasion. I took comfort in the command that hid itself in a blanket of velvet and let myself be taken by her. As she positioned me in front of her I looked into her eyes the color of endless heavens and in them I saw age and eternity staring me in the face. I marveled in awe of her, and then I knew....  
  
She was my salvation. 


End file.
